


A Sad And Useless Sentiment

by Secretficjunkie



Category: Little Witch Academia
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Memories, Past Relationship(s), Rare Pairings, Repressed Memories, Summer Love, Summer Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26745631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Secretficjunkie/pseuds/Secretficjunkie
Summary: For rare pair week: The night that Andrew and Akko go galavanting across the North campus in search of the Fountain of Polaris, Anne Finnelan relives some sweet and painful memories when she had known Count Hanbridge many many years ago.
Relationships: Anne Finnelan/Paul Hanbridge
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	A Sad And Useless Sentiment

**Author's Note:**

> I have trouble with titles. I was thinking of something like 'What could have been'. But then I thought...what a sad and useless sentiment that is. One can only learn from what has past and apply it to the present. 'What could have been' only serves to make us sad.

Gaggles of gossiping girls dotted the halls when Professor Finnelan glided through on her way to a staff meeting regarding the school's finances. It was absurd that the students already knew more about the event than the staff did. How they seemed to possess the supernatural ability to snoop out this kind of superfluous information so fast and yet be so reluctant to study, Anne Finnelan would never understand. 

“Girls, this is an institution of learning, not a social club. I strongly suggest you return to your classes,” she said crisply as she passed some of the giggling students. 

She vaguely heard their disdainful mutters as the group broke apart. 

“Fun-killer Finnelan strikes again...”

And that was who she was. It's what they whispered about her and scrawled about her on the bathroom walls. Fun-killer Finnelan. Frowning, fussy, fascist Finnelan. Ice-cold Finnelan. Iron-heart Finnelan. She was used to being the villain of their stories, and that was just fine. They didn't need to like her in order to learn, they just had to respect her. And despite the litany of rude insults, a fearful sort of respect they did have. 

The rest of the staff had already gathered in Headmistress Holbrook's office, with the exception of Professor Ursula, who was practically always late. 

“I apologize for my tardiness, Headmistress,” said Finnelan, “There was a disciplinary matter that required immediate action.”

“Oh, it's no trouble, Anne,” reassured the good-natured headmistress. “It seems we are waiting on one last staff member still.” Ursula was so commonly late, Miranda Holbrook had accepted it as a sort of character trait of the young teacher and had given it little more thought. 

Professor Finnelan disapproved of such leniency, but then, it wasn't her place to tell Miranda how to do her job, as much as she'd like to...as much as she tried to. 

Mere minutes later, Professor Ursula burst through the door, slightly disheveled and out of breath from clearly having run to the office. “I'm so sorry I'm late again, Headmistress! Y-you see...” she began to explain in her timid voice, but Miranda just held up a hand. 

“It's quite alright, Professor Ursula. Anne was late today as well, if you can believe that.” At this she let out a warm laugh. Professor Finnelan bristled at being compared to the far less competent Ursula. 

“Well, now that we're all here, let's get started, shall we? Samantha? You have the floor.”

“Thank you Headmistress,” said Samantha Badcock, who frequently oversaw the school's budget for Miranda Holbrook, and considered herself the most frugal and financially minded among them. 

“As most of you know by now, our financial liason to the government of England, Mr. Quinley, has officially retired. Apparently he suddenly found his department 'restructured' and is not overseeing our financial assistance anymore.” 

There was a rumble of disapproval in the group of teachers. 

“Disgraceful...”

“To put a man out of a job like that. I'll never understand these government people.”

Professor Badcock spoke a little louder to overcome the din. “Our case has been reassigned to a statesman, a count, named...” she double checked her notes. “Paul Hanbridge.” 

“What a coincidence! A count who's going to count our money...” Professor Ursula let out a quivering half-hearted laugh at her little joke, which lapsed into awkward silence at the sight of the other teacher's faces. 

Ordinarily, Professor Finnelan would have been the first to give her a scathing remark, if it weren't for the deafening silence that she found herself in at the mention of the count's name, like a dust cloud that had swallowed her up and made her unaware of the world around. Memories, long-buried, clawed to the surface and clogged her mind, plugged her ears, and blinded her eyes. 

No matter how violently she tried to shove the memories back into the void of the forgotten past, Anne Finnelan was suddenly eighteen again, on holiday at her parent's cottage on the coast what felt like a million summers ago.

* * *

For the first time all summer, it felt like to Annie, the sun was shining. Instead of the breeze from the sea biting at her with cold teeth, the air was salty and refreshing in the warmth of the light. 

Thrilled to be able to wear a sundress at last, she gave a little twirl in front of the mirror in her modest room. “Annie, girl, you look lovely,” she said, and it was true. She had bright, steely blue eyes, a strong Roman nose and a mass of wavy hair the color of burnt umber fell about her head and down her back, and she looked as an oaken nymph from mythical stories long past. 

Truthfully, she was a little nervous, but positively giddy, as young ladies in her situation tended to be. She slipped her wand into one of the dress pockets and stepped into the warm morning sunlight. The breeze from the ocean lightly whipped at her hair as she jogged down the cobbled path toward the small township closer to the water's edge, where little triangles of white sails specked the horizon on this first fair-weather day. 

As she ran spritely on, the happy butterflies in her stomach only flapped and bounced faster. Up until now, he had only seen her in bulky jumpers, which was cute to be sure, but not the womanly picture she was going for. She remembered fondly when they had met just a few weeks ago. 

“My name is Paul H-Hanbridge,” he had said in an unsure voice. 

“Annie Finnelan,” she had initially held out her hand for a handshake which he gently turned and kissed instead. 

She rounded the corner of the small market where the cobbled stones formed more of a street and the length of pale sand stretched just beyond it to the sea. She slowed to a demure walk when she saw him, the raven-haired boy with shocking green eyes half-hidden behind a pair of glasses. He was engrossed in a book, which was not unusual. He was completely oblivious to a group of girls shooting furtive and curious glances from the safety of the outdoor market, where they could quickly pretend to be interested in something else if he looked up from his book. 

They envied Annie of her raw nerve to walk right up to him. 

“Hello, Paul,” she said cheerfully, butterflies in full-force, flapping about inside her. 

Emerald eyes abandoned the book at last and a blush furiously bloomed on his pale cheeks. 

“O-oh, Annie,” he stuttered, taking in the sight of her in a sundress, “You look beautiful.” 

* * *

Anne Finnelan snapped suddenly back to reality at Samantha Badcock's next statement. 

“We've extended an invitation to Count Hanbridge to join us in a celebratory dinner, marking the occasion. It would be wise of us to make a good first impression.” 

“I agree wholeheartedly,” said Headmistress Holbrook. “Let's begin preparations right away, only the best of the best. I've already arranged for the performance of The Ancient Dark Dance,” she said excitedly. 

The other teachers groaned inwardly at the mention of The Dark Dance. The Headmistress could be so old-fashioned and outdated sometimes...

Professor Finnelan swallowed hard and pushed away the memories and personal feelings clamoring for her attention, at least for the duration of the meeting. 

“Will the students be in attendance as well?” she asked. 

“Of course!” replied the headmistress. “What's a school without its students, they're the pride of our work!” 

“Particularly Miss Cavendish,” said Professor Badcock approvingly. There was general nodding of agreement. 

“Now, I'll need each and every one of you to pitch in a little extra this week to finish preparations. Perhaps we can convince some of the more willing students to help as well...” the headmistress stroked her chin thoughtfully. 

With their tasks assigned, the meeting was over, and Anne Finnelan was left alone with her thoughts...the last place she wanted to be. Back in her office, she decided to throw herself headlong into busywork...grading papers, planning her curriculum for the week, anything and everything not to think about back then. But the memories, seemingly furious at being ignored so long, burst to the forefront once again. 

* * *

“What are you reading?” asked Annie, sitting on the bench next to Paul. He shifted a little, still blushing madly. He really had no idea how handsome he was, and was painfully shy, which Annie found adorable. 

“Oh, um...” he cleared his throat, checking the cover as if he had forgotten what he was reading. “Dracula,” he said sheepishly. “I got it over there,” he gestured to the used book shop behind the outdoor market and a flock of girls looked away suddenly and were very invested in fruit and other assorted sundries that couldn't possibly be that interesting. “Normally, father doesn't approve of...er...this salacious kind of material...” he let the words hang in the air between them. 

“Salacious?” repeated Annie with a coquettish little smile. “Whatever do you mean, Paul?”

He kept biting his lip nervously, but was so glad she asked. “Well, listen to this part...”

“There was something about them that made me uneasy, some longing and at the same time some deadly fear. I felt in my heart a wicked, burning desire that they would kiss me with those red lips.”

He cast a sidelong glance at her, shifting his body slightly, hoping that the passage had inspired Annie in a way he fervently hoped...longed for but could not find the nerve to ask outright. 

Annie was sharp, the top of her class at Luna Nova, and not one to miss out on hints like that. She placed her hand over his and he shifted again. Looking over at the group of girls still much too suspiciously interested in anything other than the two of them, she said, “Let's go somewhere more private.” 

They combed the beach for a good spot and eventually happened upon a wooden sort of shack where small rowboats were stored. Around the side, against the old splintery wall and away from any eyes that might see, Annie and Paul shared their first kiss. It was soft and full of curious uncertainty, untouched by any ugliness the world might contain. 

Pulling back, they looked at each other in an almost shell-shock as desire bubbled up from deep in their chests. A second kiss turned into a third and turned into more, each a little more curious than the last. 

Finally, one of them said something. “Annie...Annie, you're fogging up my glasses,” said Paul with a genuine smile, not really wanting to stop but feeling overwhelmed by first passions stirring in him. 

She pulled away, still holding onto the back of his neck and his glasses cleared. “What else does that book say?” she asked breathily. 

He had forgotten about the book. He picked it up out of the sand and turned to the place he had marked with shaking hands and cleared his throat. 

“Lower and lower went her head as the lips went below the range of my mouth and chin and seemed to fasten on my throat.”

He let out a gasp when Annie performed on him the actions that the words described as he read them. Her lips were pressed to his neck in the hollow of his throat. 

“Th-th-then she paused, and I could hear the churning sound of her tongue as it licked her teeth and lips, and I could feel the hot...hot breath on my neck.” And he felt it as he read it. 

“Then the skin of my throat began to tingle as one's flesh does when the hand that is to tickle it approaches nearer...n-nearer. I could feel the soft, shivering touch of the lips on the super sensitive skin of my throat, and the hard dents of two sharp teeth, just touching and pausing there.”

They were both very glad she did not have fangs, but she paused her lips to his throat all the same, which made his whole body quake and the telltale goosebumps described in the book rose all along his skin. 

“I closed my eyes in languorous ecstasy and waited, waited with beating heart.” 

* * *

All week, the teachers worked to prepare for the upcoming dinner in addition to their regular duties. Professor Finnelan did a more than admirable job keeping her personal feelings aside, but an astute observer would be able to tell she was edgier than normal. Most students hardly noticed and took it as her usual short-tempered demeanor. 

Inside, her memories rended the darkness where she had kept them for years. Some sweet, that brought a secret smile to her lips. Others had not come to the surface yet, but she knew...she remembered the bitter taste of them and how they burned her throat. 

It certainly hadn't helped that news of the dinner had spread like wildfire and it was all the students could talk about. News reached her ears that Paul Hanbridge's son, Andrew, would also be in attendance. She didn't know he had a son, but why wouldn't he? He must have moved on...after. She had moved on too. 

Professor Finnelan was pulled from her thoughts by Samantha Badcock who stormed into the staff break room, muttering to herself. “That Atsuko Kagari...”

“Something the matter, Samantha?” asked Finnelan, eager to distract herself. 

“It's that Miss Kagari again!” said Professor Badcock, instantly taking the offer to vent. 

“What did she do this time?”

“She's absolutely hopeless at metamorphosis magic! No aim! No focus! I'm at my wit's end, Anne!” 

“I understand, Samantha. I've had what seems like nothing but trouble from the girl myself. What did you decide to do?”

“I've ordered her to stay in her room tonight and practice her metamorphosis until she masters it,” said Samantha in a huff. 

A part of Anne was relieved. Someone like Atsuko Kagari would probably cause a huge distraction or upset at such an important event. 

“You did the right thing, Samantha,” she said finally, without much conviction as her focus was pulled again to the event.

Professor Badcock was hardly listening anymore, she set about making tea and still grumbling. Anne was left alone with her thoughts again. Tonight was the big night, and so many memories had already come flowing back. She worried that seeing his face would make the worst ones rise. 

* * *

Annie quietly let herself out the cottage door with her shoes in one hand and a blanket tucked under the other arm, trying to be as silent as possible. Tonight just by happy coincidence, was a full moon. Without the light pollution that would haunt the spot in later years, the entire seaside town was illuminated in a magical blue glow, nearly as light as day. And it was still warm, warm enough for her to choose another sundress.

They had agreed to meet again at the splintery old boathouse. She carefully picked her way down the cobbled path and was relieved to reach the sanctuary of the soft sand. 

He was already there when she arrived, face lighting up when he saw her. It seemed some of his nerves had gone. “Annie!” he called out. 

They embraced as if they hadn't seen each other in days, though it had been only hours. And kissed again, more eagerly than earlier in the morning. 

They spread out the blanket on the sand, just taking a few moments to sit and feel the warmth of one another radiating from their touching hands and the bits of them that were cuddled together. 

“When we go back to Blytonbury at the end of the summer, I'll take you on a proper date, Annie,” said Paul, with grand images in mind of their courtship. He couldn't believe her school was just miles away from his family's estate. How lucky he had gotten...

“This is perfect, tonight is perfect. The moon, the sea...us here and now. Don't you think so?” Annie asked, leaning her head on his shoulder. 

“It is,” he smiled peacefully. “It's almost magic.” 

She got an idea, pulling out her wand from her pocket. “I want to show you something I've learned,” she said with a sly smile. She stood and kicked off her shoes into the sand. Curious, Paul did the same, and she giggled that he would choose to wear Oxford shoes and dress socks on the beach. 

Paul knew nothing about magic. It wasn't a subject his father, the then-Count Hanbridge, was particularly fond of. He had a mild curiosity, as any young person would and was a little excited at the prospect of seeing some now first-hand. 

She grabbed his hand and led him to the water's edge. She muttered a complicated incantation and the unmistakable aquamarine light of magic fountained out of her wand and splashed over them. 

Paul felt no different...he expected to feel, well, something? 

But she led him into the water and he was amazed to find that as they waded into the sea, their feet remained only about an inch in the water and they walked along the surface as if floating. 

He couldn't help but let out a laugh, something his lungs weren't very used to. 

Annie was already laughing, still holding onto his hand. She tip-toed and danced along the ocean's surface while Paul took struggling, unsure steps. It was the most incredible thing he had ever seen. Their feet disturbed the gentle current, smudging the reflection of the moon and stars. He held onto her hand for dear life as his steps got more steady. 

She pulled him close, and he wrapped his arms around her, deliriously happy. Annie lost her focus on the spell and even then, magic was fading and it became increasingly harder to perform away from a Sorcerer's Stone. 

They fell into the shallows of the sea together, gasping at the sudden cold of the water but soon breaking into more laughter. He had luckily held onto his glasses as they waded back to the beach. 

Now soaking wet, they plopped down on the sand near the blanket they spread out. 

“Are you cold?” he asked, trying not to look too long at the wet fabric clinging to her skin. 

“A little...” she said shyly. “Will you...will you keep me warm?”

His breath stuttered and he nodded eagerly. 

Under the protective eyes of the moon and sea, dozens of kisses and tender touches unfolded into a new fledgling love, so fragile and vulnerable. 

* * *

Evening had descended upon Luna Nova and the staff and students gathered in the main hall to receive their esteemed guests. A wire of nervous excitement wound through the crowd, causing girls to fidget and shift from foot to foot in anticipation of a rarely-seen handsome male specimen in this girls-only institution. 

Anne Finnelan found herself feeling nervous, and she never felt nervous, but she nearly came undone when Samantha poked her head over the balcony and announced that their guests had arrived. The double doors opened shortly after. 

_By Jennifer's Hat..._

He had aged...grayed, and his face had pinched into a well-worn scowl but other than that, he practically looked just the same. And the son...his son was his very spitting image. 

Murmurs and whispers rippled through the crowd of girls as their eyes glued to Andrew but Anne couldn't tear her gaze from Paul. 

For a fleeting moment, their eyes met and there was the faintest flicker of recognition.

_That looks like...could that be...Annie?_

But he shook his head a fraction from side-to-side. He must have imagined it. Besides it didn't matter after all these years. Wilhelmina had become his world after he lost Annie. And then he lost again when she got sick. He had Andrew's welfare to consider now, not to mention the country.

She hadn't expected him to recognize her and she preferred it that way. She fervently wished she could just leave the past where it was, where it had been shut away in darkness. But seeing his face, seeing him here of all places, stirred it up and it roared as a great dragon in her chest, demanding to be appeased. 

Anne sat as far down the long dining table as she could, nearly out of his line of sight. She never spoke to him, just watched, as if waiting for something to happen. Near the end of the dreaded Dark Dance, she lost her breath and had a very hard time getting it back. Just as she thought, the worst memories burned her throat and choked the air from her lungs. 

* * *

Annie couldn't remember all the details about that morning. It had happened so fast. She remembered being awoken by a yank on the arm, almost pulling it from its socket. There was much screaming and shouting...a voice she recognized as Paul's, her parent's voices...and others she had never heard. 

She hardly heard the then-Count Hanbridge call her a 'witch whore' or her own father's outraged voice and the two men nearly coming to blows. After a moment she could only hear Paul's stricken protests. 

She remembered seeing his eyes behind his glasses that had knocked askew, how terrified they were. And how Paul was restrained by his father as her own parents fairly dragged her away by the arms, away from the beach, back up to the cottage. 

She sat in a chair numbly while her father ranted and raved. She could have chosen any other boy, _any_ other in town or in Blytonbury, but she just had to pick the wrong one. Just as relations between witches and humans became even more shaky, the papers would say she seduced Statesman Hanbridge's only son, perhaps out of spite, perhaps out of her 'wicked nature'. The motivations didn't really matter to the vultures, all that mattered was that things would get worse. 

Hanbridge had no intention of letting the scandal get out. As soon as he had his son back in the privacy of their summer home, he only needed to ask one simple question as he removed the large ring from his left hand. 

“She bewitched you didn't she? It wasn't your fault...she put you under a spell?” 

The words formed a question but it was in no way a question. And it carried behind it a heavy threat, one Paul knew all too well when his father's ring came off. 

Tears stinging his eyes, he responded the only way he could. “Y-yes.”

“Good...you remember that.”

The few spectators in town that had witnessed the commotion of the discovery were paid off in exchange for their silence. 

The next Annie heard, the Hanbridges had sold their summer home on the coast and Paul was hidden away in the massive estate in Blytonbury, reminded every day that it was only a spell that had caused his enormous lapse in good judgment. After a while, he could hardly tell the truth from the lies.

Annie and her family were spared the scandal as well from Hanbridge's swift cover-up, but she was never quite the same. It was the first time she had been cast as the villain in someone else's story. The rest of the summer, those who knew would stare and whisper whenever they saw her. 

She vowed not to be destroyed by insults. She went back to studying, worked even harder on her magic and buried herself in her work and the sacred traditions of the craft. She went by Anne and never allowed anyone to call her 'Annie' again. After the tears were all gone, the memories were buried deep down, where they had stayed until now. 

* * *

After the dinner had ended, Anne retired to her room, too exhausted to think beyond tonight. The onslaught of the past had become too much. But she did not spill any tears...it had been too long and she had spilled all her tears already when their love withered on the vine all those years ago. 

She simply walked to the mirror and took down her burnt umber hair from its Victorian-style updo, which cascaded down her shoulders in great oaken waves. 

After looking for a moment or two, she said, “Anne, old girl, you still look lovely.” 

At that moment, there was a knock on her door. 

She really didn't want to see anyone, but old-fashioned courtesy overruled her desire for solitude. “Come in.”

Miranda Holbrook came teetering through the door, staff in hand and levitating a tea tray behind her. 

“Anne? I thought we'd have some tea to celebrate after our success. What do you say?”

“Of course, headmistress, won't you sit down?”

Miranda fixed the tea and pulled out a silver flask from inside her robes. “You'll want some of this, dear,” she said kindly. 

“What is it headmistress? Some sort of revitalizing potion?”

“Whiskey,” replied Miranda happily. 

_Oh, thank the nine._ She extended her cup. 

Miranda poured some for herself as well and settled into the chair. After a long drink, she seemed to get to the point she originally came for. 

“You've been out of sorts all week, Anne. Especially tonight. Whatever is wrong, dear?”

Anne considered Miranda Holbrook...she really didn't give her enough credit. Miranda certainly was old-fashioned and sometimes a bit air-headed, but every once in a while she saw things that no one else saw. Still...Anne chose to lie. 

“I'm merely concerned about the school's financial state,” she clipped professionally.

“If you were Samantha, I would believe that,” replied Miranda evenly. “But you couldn't take your eyes off Count Hanbridge all evening. I think you know that man...” she looked meaningfully over the brim of her teacup. 

Anne sighed. “I used to...not anymore.” Maybe it was the whiskey loosening her tongue or maybe the burden of carrying the memories for years had just broken her down at last. She told Miranda the story in its entirety. Miranda just listened patiently, a sharp focus in her eyes like Anne had never seen before. 

“...and when you announced he would be taking over our finances, well, I was in shock.” 

“As anyone would be, dear,” said Miranda warmly. “You've certainly been though something wonderful...and then something horrible. If I had known...”

“You couldn't have known,” Anne cut her off a bit angrily, flinching at the hint of sympathy. 

“Well, Anne, all I can say is...I couldn't be more proud to have you on my staff. Just look at who you became and who you are...strong, capable, brilliant and talented. And you care for these girls, that's why you act like such a curmudgeon all the time,” she laughed. 

Anne's lips thinned, but she was right after all. 

“Here's to you, Anne,” Miranda raised her cup. 

Anne's lips unpressed themselves and quirked upward into a half-smile. “Here's to me.” 

* * *

The next day, at the beginning of her Magical Linguistics class, Anne very nearly felt like herself again. 

She surveyed her students and nothing in the world had changed for them. Miss O'Neill had her feet up on the desk, Miss Cavendish was hard at work already, Miss Manbavaran was concocting some sort of horrible thing for Lukic's class, and Miss Kagari was causing a distraction as usual. 

Last night's events were still on everyone's lips, especially the fact that Andrew Hanbridge had apparently disappeared for over half the night, only to turn up at the very end without so much as an explanation. 

Anne called for quiet, suddenly feeling compelled to say something to these young ladies...a hard-learned lesson in the class of life. 

“Listen class...after last night's party, I feel it incumbent upon me to tell you something important that might help you one day.”

At this unusual start to what was normally a dull subject, all eyes and ears were rapt with attention. 

“You're all still young, most of you will find love. When you do, love with everything you have. But never forget who you are. You are strong, capable, brilliant and talented women...witches,” she said, echoing Miranda's words. “They may take everything from you, but they can never take that.”

And with that, the standard Magical Linguistics lesson began and none of the girls were very sure that Professor Finnelan's heartfelt sentiment had really happened at all. 

Amanda turned in her seat, mouthing the words, “What the hell was that?” Cosntanze shrugged in response, just as confused. 

Akko was in shock that Finnelan had lumped her in with the rest of the witches she considered talented and brilliant. 

Diana was laser-focused on her teacher still, hardly believing her ears as the words sunk deep into her brain. “Love with everything you have,” she had said...

Anne's memories tucked themselves away again, but instead of hiding in a void of darkness and pain, they simply went to rest, melting into the foundation of the strong woman she was today.


End file.
